He Takes My Breath Away

The Lord took my breath away yesterday. It was just Him and me, my thoughts were just dwelling on Him, and for a moment, I lost my breath. It reminded me of the way falling in love felt. Don't misread, being in love is much better than falling in love, but the falling can be really good. Do you remember that feeling? Or have you even ever felt it? There's this little pit-like feeling in your diaphragm, like you've lost your air, and a pressure in your chest as though if you don't breathe in deeply and suddenly, you might never breathe again. It's a little like a sense of panic, except your mind is not running but focused. It's a little like illness, except it's not unpleasant. Maybe that's why they coined the term "lovesick."

It could be a somewhat addictive feeling. It could get you into lots of trouble too, I suppose if the object of the emotion wasn't a healthy one. But for me, yesterday at least, it was the Lord.

I wish I could feel like that every day... minus the appearance lovesick adolescents walk around with. I don't what the dazed look in my eyes or my tongue hanging half out my mouth, not knowing where I've been or where I'm going. It's a funny look and at 39, I'm pretty sure I can't pull it off.

Neal's made me feel this way, still does a lot of days, but this wasn't Neal making me feel this way yesterday, it was the Lord. It started when I was listening to a song I wasn't familiar with called "Soon" by Hillsong United. It touched my heart. It's a song about the Lord coming back for me. I look forward to that day. Yesterday as I was listening I think I understood what the apostle Paul meant when he said, "to live is Christ, and to die is gain." I just really wanted to go and be with Him. I felt homesick for Him.

No complaint about my live as it is. I am a woman GREATLY blessed. I have a husband who I am 1000% madly in love with, I have three precious children who are God's greatest gifts to me that I love immensely. I am surrounded by precious people in my life that I love and care for immensely. And yet all of these wonderful blessings pale in comparison. Christ is the Great Romance in my life.

I feel for Him like the princess who awaits her Knight in shining armor. No, better yet, I am the peasant girl awaiting her Prince who loves her passionately, completely and unconditionally and is coming to rescue her and take her off to where she belongs. Oh, someday my Prince will come.

I kept playing the song over and over. It spoke to my soul. The residue of the time entering into His presence, seeking His heart remains. I am still feeling a little lovesick, still longing to be held in His arms of grace completely.

It will not remain, of that I am certain. Truthfully, I don't think it is likely His desire that it should. He isn't here yet for me, because surely there are things He has for me to do and accomplish that have yet to be accomplished. And yet I think He allows these moments to help us have the strength to press on. But I also suspect that there are more of these moments to be had than I actually slow down enough from the "speed of life" to experience.

The exposure to lovesickness for Christ is here to be had. It may be in a song, or a sermon, a worship service, a quiet time. It could be in the moment of counting one's blessings, welcoming a new life, helping a loved one pass out of this life. In those places, the Lord is present, arms of grace, heart of unconditional love. Passion. No greater passion be than the love of Christ.

Let me share the song that touched my heart.




Stop a moment. Close your eyes. Listen. Seek Him with your heart. Breathe deeply. He is present. Faithful. Loving. True. Do you feel it? He's coming, soon. Does He make you breathless.

Why My God?

So many religions, so many faiths, how am I so sure?

Isn't He just a story in a book? How can I know?

People even think me arrogant in my confidence.... How can I be sure?

Why my God?

Because He is the God who held me in the lowest moment of my life, and gave me hope...

Because He is the God who took the worst experience of my life, and gave it back to me, so I could give hope to others...

Because He is the God who brought fruit forth from barrenness....

Because He is the God who remembers all the hurts, all the sadness, all the tears, and has compassion.

Because He is the God who spoke to me, made a promise and carried it through, and carried me through while I had to wait... and wait... and wait...

Because He is the God who made many promises... and kept them all....

Because He is the God Who in the dark days always shines Light...

Because He is the God who never leaves me, or leaves me wanting....

Why my God?

Because He is real, and present, compassionate, and true.

Why my God? Because He is my God...

But this is what I commanded them, saying, ‘Obey My voice, and I will be your God, and you shall be My people. And walk in all the ways that I have commanded you, that it may be well with you.’
Jeremiah 7:23

Psalm 63:1-3 - Devotional

O God, You are my God;
Early will I seek You;
My soul thirsts for You;
My flesh longs for You
In a dry and thirsty land
Where there is no water.
So I have looked for You in the sanctuary,
To see Your power and Your glory.
Because Your lovingkindness is better than life,
My lips shall praise You.
Psalm 63:1-3

This is my current Facebook status. I spent a little time with the Lord last night doing business, and I went searching for a scripture. I wanted to look up "I will seek You," because the fact of the matter is, I don't think I have been like I should. I have allowed distractions to take precedence. I'm a little off track.

I don't think I'm "off the road" completely, but how far does it have to be to be causing a serious delay in God's purpose for my life? A little bit of compromise can be the equivalent of pulling over along the side of the road and setting up camp.

As much as it turns out I enjoy camping, I really don't want to do it figuratively in my spiritual walk. I much prefer to be a constant traveler on the path the Lord has set before me. Mind you, not only looking ahead at what is to come, but rather walking along and experiencing every step of the travel with a sense of purpose and direction. I may not know where I am headed, but I want to be sure of Who I am following, knowing He knows the best way, and has purpose in every step of the trip. And should I be called to make stops along the way, I want it to be because He has called me to them, not because of laziness or distraction on my own part.

I long for this, the sense of direction and purpose, the sense of God's presence that comes with it. I will seek the Lord because my flesh and soul long and thirst for Him, and will be satisfied with nothing less. This world, this land I travel through is a desert, but the Lord will sustain me in it. As the land seems to grow more dry and good fruit more sparse, I am determined to walk closely with the One who will strengthen and sustain me on the journey.

Lord, lead me. Please help me walk with You and with purpose. Your love is better than life...

These are the words I long to meditate on today, and purpose to apply in my life. By your grace Lord.

Mess Makers

Where no oxen are, the trough is clean;
But much increase comes by the strength of an ox.
Proverbs 14:4

Just kind of thinking about this verse today. It always makes me think of church. Not necessarily my church in particular, but at times so, but at the moment I have no overwhelming complaints. Though if I did, I am learning more and more that the issue leading to it has more to do with my heart condition than the condition of my church, but I digress, that is a topic for another day.

So back to this Proverb, you might be wondering what in the world it has to do with church, and complaints for that matter. You see, when I read this verse, I read it like this, Church would be a perfect place without people, but people make a church a church."

I suppose it's not true of just churches, it could be a workplace, a family, a class, a club, anything. It's the "messiness" of having people in it that make it a challenge. People you see, are a mess. I know, because I am a mess. And I would be willing to take odds on a bet that you are a mess too.

Now I will grant you that not all messes are made equally, but we all have our own (vast) amount of issues, we all have our "stuff." And the fact of the matter is, as much as we would like to believe otherwise, our "stuff" effects other people. And when we commune in places and groups like churches and families the power of that increases.

(Warning, this seems to have already turned from a complete different direction than I thought I was headed, I have no idea where we are going...)

But just like our bad "stuff" can have a detrimental effect on those around us, our good "stuff" can bring a benefit, there's the part of the proverb that read, ...much increase comes by the strength of an ox. The fact of the matter is, we need each other.

I'll stick with my church analogy. I think of a time when my kids were littler and my E was quite the handful at times. He was and has always been a very good hearted boy, but an active good hearted boy just the same. So one Sunday after service I went to pick him up from Sunday school. The teacher sort of let me know she had been having a problem with him, I didn't like the way she said it to me, but it wasn't until we got about 15 feet from the classroom that I got really ticked off. I looked down at my four-year-old son and he exploded into tears so profoundly I couldn't calm him down. Finally I got square in his face and held him by the shoulders, "What is wrong?" Amidst sobs and gasps for air he choked it out... "My teacher said I was such a bad boy that if I didn't change, I was never going to be allowed to come to church again..."

Exhale. If you are a parent, particularly a mom, or if you have any tender spot towards children, you can imagine the internal combustion that happened in that single moment. I pulled my very active, but also extremely tender-hearted 4-year-old of mine into the deepest hug of his life. I tried my best with my mother's love to impart so much love to him through that hug that every bad word ever spoken to him would disappear, especially the ones he's heard just moments before. Then I was angry. REALLY ANGRY. First I went in and asked his teacher if that was indeed what she had said. It was. I stood there a moment in disbelief, I think my mouth was actually agape, and then I turned and spun out of the room. I talked to one of the ministry supervisors first, then I talked to the Children's pastor's assistant... I probably looked like the superhero "The Flame" blazing from place to place seeking judgment for my son. At the time I felt extremely justified. I think I felt probably a little like Herodias, because all I was looking for was a head on a platter.

Now, more than four years later, I realize that although this woman was wrong to have said what she did, I didn't really handle it very well either, though I do give myself a little credit for holding my tongue with the teacher, that's not always (usually) my strong suit. I never stopped for a moment and looked at a bigger picture. If it wasn't for this woman and people like her, I wouldn't even be able to enjoy the luxury of sitting in a church service to listen. If it wasn't for people willing to volunteer and give their time, I would have been sitting in a pew trying to control that active 4-year-old for myself, and that really would have proven difficult impossible.

So although that day she made a bit of a mess, it's through her dedication and sacrifice that mommies like me could take a short break, and little kids like my E could learn about Jesus. And even that day, (all things together for good) he did learn about Jesus. When I, "the Flame" finally came to a stop before the children's pastor dragging my wounded 4-year-old behind me (did I fail to mention that?) He took the time and opportunity to bend down to my little guy's level, take him in his arms and assure him, "there is always a place for you here. We love you no matter what." Ahhh, bringing the increase.

There have been many times in my church, as in my family, I too have been wounded. I have had careless words spoken to me, about me... a few occasions about me in front of a crowd, but somewhere along the line I learned it is better to respond than to react. I started to write, "I have learned to react rather than respond," but that isn't actually always true, sometimes I still react, but afterwards, I always realize it would have been better to respond.

Some people are "natural" responders, I'm married to one, but I am not one myself. I am more the passionate immediate reactor, like Peter cutting off the soldier's ear? Yeah, I love Peter, I can so relate to him. You see, that part of my personality, it's part of my "stuff," part of my inclination to make a mess, and maybe wound people along the way. But I have good stuff too. I can be a very good encourager. Just as I can be dangerous with my words when not careful, I can also build up, inspire, heal even, on occasion I even do it in prose. It's where I have the potential to bring an "increase."

It's funny though, how when you are in the midst of being the one wounded (or it's your 4-year-old or your husband, or your best friend) how the one who is wounding can suddenly be viewed as evil or mean. Grace takes a back seat to outrage and justice, and we no longer see the person, but rather only see their act against us... or the act we take personally and perceive as being against us. As quickly as we might say to someone else, "give me the benefit of the doubt," it isn't even on our radar when we're hurting, or seeing someone we love be hurt.

I have seen a lot of people leave churches over situations like the one that happened to us. It's like the whole church is hanging on two strikes, one wrong swing, and they're out. If I had left my church every time someone hurt me, I would have run through every church in Orange County by now. And on the other hand, if every person I ever wounded left the church, I could probably take credit for several empty rows. But I have never left, because somewhere along the line when I was feeling really wounded, the Lord brought the Proverb above to my attention, and pointed out, that anywhere where there are people involved, things will get messy.

So at some point I determined that grace would have to win out over judgment. There have been times when it was only for the sake of someone else, mainly my husband or one of my kids, that I stayed, but I determined if I was ever to leave, it would have to be at the direction of the Lord, and I was pretty sure He'd never send me off in an angry huff stomping my feet and lighting a fire behind me.

The same is true in families, maybe if we thought like this, divorce rates would be lower. Someone told me once that there is a statistic that the average attendance at a single church for an individual or family is about 18 months. Then come and sit in the pews and a year and a half later, they move on. I wonder if in that short amount of time you are more likely to have made more messes or more increases. I am guessing if it were increases, you wouldn't be inclined to go.

We have been at our church for going on 18 years. I hope my increases outweigh my messes. I do know the longer I stay, the more and more mindful I become at trying not to make them. I love that being a part of my church I have watched people's children grow up into adulthood, get married, even start families of their own. I love watching the cyclical rhythm of life there, kids that Neal and I led in youth group now leading my son, perhaps someday he will lead their children. It's such a huge blessing, such a huge increase.

We are all "mess makers," with our bad days, misspoken words, wrong hearts or attitudes on a given day, no matter how hard we even try not to be, there will be days where it simply happens, and that's true whether you're a pew sitter or a pastor, every one of us is gloriously human, and messy in nature. But also, we each have within us this incredible potential to be "increase makers." We have the power and ability to build up, encourage, help along the way.

I may have days where I live life as "dumb as an ox," but I have the potential to live days "as strong as one" too, and so do you.

Late Night Ramblings

I should be heading to bed, but I'm too tired... Too tired? Yes, too tired. I'm the kind of tired where my body and spirit are ready for a long night's sleep, but my mind is not slowing down, ready to stop for the night. So I find myself here at my blog, letting the overflow go in hopes it will help me decompress so sleep will come. As I type this I find myself in the midst of a deja vu moment. Those are always interesting.

I have had this phrase running through my mind for days, "Lord be my heart, that I may be Your hands." I'm not sure if it's a prayer (it should be) or the beginning of a poem (it could be) or even the inspiration for a blog post (but I doubt it.) But whatever it's eventual purpose, it keeps coming to my mind over and over again. I think a great song could be written from it. I wish I was musically inclined. I have a lot of poetry I've written that could be great song lyrics, and even a few lyrics I have written, but I have no melodies.

We signed our loan papers yesterday, finally. And the whole process seems like it must be God. I had a specific amount in mind and I was not willing to try to refi unless we could save a certain amount each month. I tried for months to find a way to refinance and every door was shut. Then one day I was at the bank where our mortgage was to open an account for the kids' school money. The banker brought up refinancing (I had put the whole idea aside) and before I knew it I was talking to a loan specialist and he was talking about saving the amount I was looking for. It was hard because I had to spend money to do it and was nervous, but felt like maybe it was God since it came to me with my exact desires. We entered into the process, locked a great rate, then began the very slow steps toward refinancing. When we had to get our appraisal we had to hit a specific number to qualify and we not only hit the number but were $8,000 over it. I kept thinking about how 8 is the number of grace. When you read the appraisal it makes no sense. We were given "good" and "average" ratings all the way through the itemized portions of the appraisal, and then for the overall assessment we were rated "above average." It said specifically "no visible defects," and I felt it was because I had prayed the assessor would be blinded to our cement issues, and clearly he was. Last week we hit the final stretch in the process, Friday I found out that our new payment was not only going to be what I specifically prayed for in savings, but exactly $50 more in savings every month. The only glitch was our closing costs, they were more than I had hoped for, but also $500 less than the house payment we won't have to make in September. Money what it is I was hoping for no payment, and we don't have it "free" but have it in the kids school account, so that's where we are taking it from.

I have no peace, even though everything seems to be falling in place. Even though it seems like it has come together in a "God" way, I'm still anxious. This morning I was feeling like something was cracking inside. The anxiety attacks keep creeping back up, though thankfully the waking up with a pit in my stomach has passed.

I have suffered with depression in my past, mild but definitive. Interestingly I didn't recognize it at the time until it was pointed out to me. It was a very difficult season, I was removed from ministry and put under a sort of "watch" for a season. It was hard. I had to learn how to just "be" rather than being so focused on "doing." It's something I still struggle with at times. But now when the signs of depression creep in, I have a better sense of them. I am not any better about being able to stop them from coming, but it does help me get focused on fighting them off sooner.

The other day when I was feeling really overwhelmed by challenges and circumstances a good friend told me she thought I needed a good cry. It's hard for me to understand the concept. In my mind crying isn't ever good, and yet part of me thinks she's probably right, but sometimes when I think about it, it makes me afraid. If I started, I might never stop.

I sincerely do hate to cry, I hate the way I look, I hate the way it makes me feel, I hate the sense of the aftermath. And yet tears are precious, the bible says so, God keeps them all in a bottle. I wonder if my friend is right, and I have moments where the sigh comes, and it feels like I could let the dam down and let the tears flow, but I stop myself. I find it easier to cry about things that are not true, like sappy dog movies or romantic TV trysts than to let the emotions of real life overwhelm me.

Sometimes when I think about the things of God, my brain actually starts to hurt. When I ponder things like eternity and God's love, my little mind cannot comprehend it. And if I'm tired, it's even harder. Sometimes I get overwhelmed by the questions like, "where did God come from?" It will hit me in a moment and it's like an earthquake in the foundation of my faith, but just like a real California earthquake, usually before I am fully aware it's even happening, it's over. Because just as soon as my brain is overwhelmed by the questions, my experience reminds me of the truth.

I think about the God who promised me 10 years before she came about the daughter I would have. I think about how with each child, I knew who was coming before they arrived. I think about the God who held me when I was fighting through the healing process of my abortion. I think about the God who told Neal and I to fight for our son, and then strengthened us and led us through the battle. I think about the God who's presence was powerful when I feared for the life of my daughter, repeatedly,

I think about God's word, and how he has proved it true in my life over and over again. I think about the frame around my license plate that says, "God always keeps His promises," and remember all the times He's proven that truth in my life.

And yet still, emotions rise, and I struggle. I wonder sometimes if when I suffer anxiety if it comes from within or from outside myself. And I wonder which is harder to battle.

You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is stayed on You..." (Isaiah 26:3) My mind... not my emotions.

What is the balance? I consider myself more of a thinker than a feeler. Is that why feeling is so overwhelming for me? It's not my gift or inclination. I wonder, do feelers get overwhelmed by their thoughts? Like I wish I had a switch for my emotions, do they wish they had a switch for their minds? Probably, because in honesty, I guess I wish I had a switch for both.

Late night ramblings... would I have been better off to head to bed? Will you all think me ridiculous? Crazy? Self-serving? Or will something in my very real struggle touch a heart? Help someone feel less alone? Testify that even people of faith, even great faith, have real doubts, fears and concerns?

Great faith? Yes, I consider myself to be a woman of great faith. Because no matter how many times my fears and doubts rise, or my emotions threaten to overwhelm, I come back around full circle to that testimony of my life put upon my licence plate frame, "God always keeps His promises." His Word is true, He has proven that and Himself to be trustworthy to me...

"All things together for good..."
(Romans 8:28)

...everyone born of God overcomes the world. This is the victory that has overcome the world...
(1 John 5:4)

...God's gifts and his call are irrevocable.
(Romans 11:29)

...He makes his steps firm; though he stumble, he will not fall...
(Psalm 37:23-24)

I will give you the treasures of darkness...
(Isaiah 45:3)

For the word of the LORD is right and true; He is faithful in all He does.
(Psalm 33:4)

My heart and mind may struggle, my words and thoughts may ramble, but my foundation remains secure.

Truly, Madly, Deeply

I was making our bed this morning, and had one of those ooey gooey waves of love for my husband wash over me. I was able to move around at an easy pace this morning and was tucking sheets under the mattress and I was overwhelmed with what a lucky girl I am. I am crazy in love with my husband. I don't always act like it, but I am.

I'm proud of my marriage. Looking around and watching so many of them fall apart, I am very proud of the fact that ours is going strong. But I don't take it for granted, you have to work hard to keep a marriage strong.

That was one of the first lessons I learned, marriage is hard work. It's a fact, and one most young couples don't realize when they first sign on for what they imagine will be some great romantic adventure meant to last the rest of their lives.

I look at the picture above, two (kindly) pudgy, middle-aged folks, those madly in love 19-year-olds had nothing on this couple. And although there was a time when our inseams were longer than my waistlines, that's just about the only advantage those two cool kids had over these... grown-ups.

It's been a hard road to get "here," but I'm so glad we took it.

No, it's not our anniversary, and it isn't Neal's birthday - I just really found myself counting my blessings this morning, and he is without a doubt on the top of my list. I know a lot of women adore their children and tolerate their husbands, but I would not count myself a member of this very large club. I don't just tolerate my children, but they are second to my husband, and I honestly think that's the way it is supposed to be.

I don't wonder, "what will we do?" when the kids are gone. I look forward to those years with great anticipation, knowing an empty nest will someday mean more time for "us," with less family business to partner over and more time to just be together and connect. That will be the reward at the end of the challenging years of our journey. I hope Neal and I are both blessed with long lives so that we have a lot of those years together. (Maybe working on those waistlines would be a good effort to make.)

We aren't attached at the hip or anything. We both have our own interests and things we like to do, but we connect through them when we can. I like to write and read and blog. Neal isn't much of a fan of reading, he'll probably never see this, but he supports me, lets me share the occasional blog I wrote, or listens as I drone on about the latest book I'm reading. He has his softball. I have left Monday nights untouched for 17 years, even when it meant I had to pull double parent duty at times, because I know he loves to play. And when our schedules allow, I go and root him on from the stands... LOUDLY of course, it is me after all.

I grew up going to baseball games incessantly as a kid. My dad was an umpire and I went to high school and college games as well as lots of Angel games. By the time I met Neal I was BURNT OUT... and if I never saw another baseball game again I would have been great with it. But a couple years into our marriage when Neal came out of the "closet" as an Angel fan, I came back around too. When he turned into a hardcore fan, I jumped on his bandwagon. It wasn't long before I found myself watching the games even when he wasn't around, because it became something we could share. I love it now, because he loves it.

Our romance quotient is great. I will keep it at that to spare you all pink cheeks, but it is our friendship that truly sustains us. I LIKE my husband. I like hanging out with him, I like talking to him, I like the person he is.

It took a lot of years, but regularly praying together cemented our relationship even more. I believe the most intimate thing we share together is seeking the Father together. When we let it lapse because of life and its schedules, we can feel it, we suffer for it. We bicker more.

I say more because even when things are good, we bicker. The other night I asked Jake if it bothers him when we fight. He adamantly told me it REALLY bothers him when we fight. So I asked him about our recent camping trip. We had a couple "incidents" on our family outing. He laughed, he said, "you didn't fight on our trip, that's just bickering. That doesn't bother me."

I make no apologies for bickering. You take two different people from two different backgrounds with two different ways of communicating, and there will always be conflict. Bickering shows my kids that when things get a little rough, you work it out.

I wonder how many marriages are cut short because couples give up too quickly when the waters get rough. I know there were lots of times in the last 20 years when I thought it would have been easier to walk away than stick it out and work it out. But I'm sure glad I didn't.

If love is an action, marriage is a commitment. You don't base the love of your marriage on what you "feel" but you choose to love your spouse, and you act it out... "fake it till you make it" even if you have to, but you need to spend a lot more time concerning yourself with how you can love better than how you can feel more loved - it will change your marriage. And as far as the commitment goes, well, there are no deal breakers. You decide in advance that it is "until death do us part" long before the trouble comes (and it will come) and when it's tough, divorce isn't even an option... (and even though I said "til death," murder isn't an option either... )

Yeah, I am a blessed woman - I am so in love with my husband - truly, madly, deeply; but credit where credit is due... it's had a lot to do with wise investments, of God and self into this incredible adventure called mariage.

Don't think me prideful, but I am truly proud....